


Gold Star Experience

by peppermintkatie



Series: Shameless Season 11ish Gallavich Verse [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A little bit of ass eating, Anal Plug, Chocolate Covered Strawberries, Fancy Hotel Room, Fluff and Smut, Holding Hands, M/M, Makeup Honeymoon, Mickey likes to feed Ian treats, Mild breath play, This one is a little hallmarky too, a bathroom we are all jelous of, mushy couple stuff, slight exhabitionisim...maybe?, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintkatie/pseuds/peppermintkatie
Summary: This is a follow on to the second one-shot in my Season 11ish Verse - Always Keeping You.  It can be read as a stand alone but does have some references back to content in that story.  Essentially, Ian and Mickey plan a makeup honeymoon at a fancy hotel.  It happens to be over Valentine's weekend.  It's pretty light on angst and mostly just fluffy feelings and good ol' fashioned sex.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Shameless Season 11ish Gallavich Verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121903
Comments: 24
Kudos: 113





	Gold Star Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always to [Kitteninmyhair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitteninmyhair/pseuds/Kitteninmyhair) for beta reading and editing my work. This time she really did the needful by doing it twice when I had to rewrite a significant portion of it!  
> Luluxa created the beautiful companion art pieces for this story and you can find all of her work including this piece here: [Luluxa on Tumbler](https://luluxa.tumblr.com//)

Mickey put the truck in gear and tried to get control of his face, which kept wanting to stupidly smile. He had done the final collections for the afternoon and had just dropped the cash at the warehouse. Now he was off until Tuesday and ready to start his makeup honeymoon with Ian. Driving Kevin's truck towards the Gallagher house to take a quick shower, grab a little surprise gift for tonight and his already packed bag, and head out. Sandy would drive him across town to the hotel where they had a reservation and where Ian would meet him when he was done with the final mysterious errands he had to run today.

He honestly couldn't remember a time when he had been so excited. He felt kind of dumb about it, but the thought of four whole nights just him and Ian, no other Gallagher's or Milkovich's and no other distractions, made him so giddy he could barely stand himself. He had what could only be termed as goddamn butterflies in his stomach. A phenomenon he had experienced off and on for a decade since he locked eyes with the dumb ginger he ended up married to; however, in the last three weeks, it had intensified, ever since their anniversary dinner.

When people asked him if he was excited, he felt compelled to shrug it off like it was no big deal. When actually, it was a huge deal. There had been literal years without Ian, thinking the connection and chemistry must have mostly been one-sided. Thinking he would never get to have Ian, that he would spend his life in and out of prison with a hole in his heart. He knew that sounded gay as fuck, but it was also true. He had known nearly from the beginning Ian wasn't replaceable; it was Ian or no one. Didn't mean he hadn't had his fair share of meaningless physical flings or even some people who, over time, had become more regular hookups who he even had some affection for. There had been a cellmate or two and a few regulars in Mexico. But he had known, he would never feel anything remotely similar to what he felt for Ian towards them. There would never be someone who could fill that particular void.

And after he broke out of prison, tracked Ian down, and Ian left him again, he had just resigned himself to the reality of living out his days without him. Mexico had been even rougher, emotionally and psychologically, than prison. He didn't talk about it much, but those years without Ian had hurt. His childhood shit was whatever; lots of people on the South Side had shitty, addicted, abusive, and neglectful parents. He wasn't special. But Ian. He still got a little choked up thinking about it. Ian had seen him, had known his darkest secret. A secret that at the time had made him feel dirty even while he had frequently been dirty. Ian understood it all and kept coming back for more, and even more importantly, he let Mickey come back, accepted him, and was soft with him. Soft in a way Mickey had never ever in his whole entire life experienced. Rightly or wrongly, he'd gotten addicted to who he was able to be when he was with Ian. Then it had all been ripped away, twice.

Prison had been hard, realizing he probably had no chance with Ian when he finally got out. It had made him frantic and reckless, desperate to take a wild chance at creating a life with him. So he'd taken his chances, broken out, and found him. For nearly forty-eight hours, he had thought Ian was all in. Ready to start a new life with him, be by his side. Only to leave him hanging again. While Mickey could sort of understand the reasons, just thinking about that afternoon made his chest ache, made his breath catch. There were whole chunks of time in Mexico he didn't remember between being drunk, high, and depressed. It had been so much worse than prison because he'd blown his wad; there was no way Ian was going to be part of his future. All hope was lost. Until the whitest tourists he had seen in days had come through looking for drugs wearing the Gay Jesus T-shirt. Mickey remembered having to blink, just seeing Ian's image had swamped his body with happiness and sadness simultaneously, a confusing combination to process. He had undersold the tourists some coke and stumbled through his words, trying to find out about the shirt and what it meant.

What little of the story they had shared had made Mickey's stomach drop with worry and yearning. He knew Ian had to be in a manic episode to have done the stupid shit he was caught up in. For three days, he had refused to look anything up. Had refused to consider how he could help Ian. It wasn't his problem. Ian had made it very clear he wasn't interested in the kind of life Mickey was leading. Three days of not eating, chain-smoking and trying not to let any of the low-level thugs he was working with see how much his fucking hands were shaking. He should have known he couldn't hold out, and once he looked up the information he could find, he was already halfway to formulating a plan.

Negotiating his way into being Ian's cellmate had been a calculated risk, which Mickey had accounted for. Part of the negotiations allowed that if Ian didn't want to share a cell with him, he could opt-out, and Mickey would be transferred to another cell block. The only thing more miserable than being separated from Ian would have been sharing a small enclosed space if Ian really didn't want him there, if he had moved on or wasn't interested. That thought had made him sick with worry, thinking about the possibility in the months leading up to Ian finally starting to serve his sentence. Then he'd shown up in the cell they were going to share, and Ian had been surprised but not disgusted. Not uninterested.

Since that day, there had absolutely been rocky patches both inside and when they got out. They bickered and got on each other's last nerve. They were both hot-headed and reactive, although they were working on it, that was relatively new. He didn't even want to think about the whole Byron fiasco. It had never been that he stopped loving Ian, but he had finally decided he needed more. He needed Ian to choose him somehow, had felt like it was always him trying to shift to accommodate Ian. It had taken a few weeks, but Ian had finally come 'round, and once that second, genuine proposal happened, Mickey was all about locking him down. He had itched to put a ring on that finger and a legal contract binding them together. There were still no guarantees, but he wanted it difficult for Ian to leave, stops, checkpoints, and time to walk it back and stay together. Maybe that was controlling or petty, but it was something that allowed Mickey to feel secure, truly, for the first time in his life.

Things just kept getting better too. He was working two jobs he actually liked making reasonable bank, parole was up in six months for both of them. Now he had a makeup honeymoon weekend to look forward to. He'd dreamed about a honeymoon when he was lying awake at night in his cell or gazing at a full moon on the beaches in Mexico, alone. Since the possibility of marrying the man had never felt achievable, a honeymoon had been pure fantasy. He would think about all the different exotic places a young and eager Ian had talked about so many summers ago and outlandish ways Mickey could make those adventures happen for him. He had wanted to be the man to give that to Ian; that had been his dream. When he had been planning the wedding, those dreams had returned, and he had started collecting a list of ideas, places, and activities he wanted to be sure Ian got to experience sometime in their future.

For the original honeymoon, he'd planned to get away to the North Side of Chicago at the very least. Being on parole required it to be local, which worked well considering their extremely limited finances. In the end, they hadn't even made it out of the South Side; it had been the "Honeymoon Suite" in a hotel that was a half a step above seedy. Then none of it had mattered because Terry ruined even that honeymoon by shooting up the joint. Terry always ruined everything.

So he had carried forward and hadn't really thought much more about the honeymoon until he organized their room at the end of the year. He had been patting himself on the back for finding an act of service to perform per the information from the stupid love languages book. He knew having the room even slightly more organized would make Ian feel better about the very tiny and cramped space they shared. Before he jammed it into a basket on his side of the bed, he had briefly flipped through it and came to the back. Mickey had touched the pictures he had pasted behind the wedding plans. He had been momentarily gripped with sadness when he remembered what they had missed out on. He reminded himself it didn't matter, he had the husband, and that's what was important.

It was only a few days later that Ian's mood had dipped drastically. Followed by weeks of additional meds, pushing liquids and food, and trying to keep people away from him so he had time to sleep and recover. Then pushing him, even when he was annoyed, to re-engage in the world so he could climb out of the depression more quickly. Fuck, he hated seeing Ian struggle so hard.

So on their anniversary, over pasta and steak, he hadn't expected anything but dinner together. Mickey had felt so unbelievably happy just to see Ian truly well; the last vestiges of his low cycle had been shaken off. Then between dinner and dessert, Ian had blushed, reached into the pocket of his jacket, and retrieved an envelope. Mickey hadn't been sure what to expect when he opened it. His eyes had actually gotten misty when he finally understood as Ian bumbled through an explanation; he'd been choked up and couldn't really say much. Ian had reached across the table, and Mickey had grabbed his hand like the stupid fucking pussy he was sometimes and held on tight.

The last three weeks had been filled with work and planning, looking at all of the things they had never done because they lived in Chicago and for most of their life had been poor as shit. He parked in the side lot next to the house and realized he had no memory of driving to the Gallaghers. His cheeks were going to hurt if he kept smiling. He hoped Sandy was in the house; he wanted to leave ricky ticky and start this little vacation. Hopping up the steps, he opened the door and was relieved to see her there. The house smelled like fresh baked cookies, and she appeared to be in the middle of making chocolate chip cookies with Franny, who was sitting on the counter.

He had to consciously try not to vibrate with eager energy and annoyance at the thought that their baking project was going to delay them leaving, "Hey, how's it going?" He went over and offered a knuckle bump to Franny, who always seemed nearly as delighted by it as Tami did. Every. Time.

"Mickey!" Franny yelled as she bumped back.

"Hey squirt," He was trying not to be impatient, "So, I am going to go up and shower and probably be ready to go in twenty?" He said it in a questioning tone, hoping Sandy was on the same page.

Sandy was as chill as ever, but his concern must have bled through as she rolled her eyes and pulled out a tray of hot cookies, "Yeah, Mick, that's fine. This is the last of the cookies." She set the tray's on the stove to cool and handed him a cooled cookie, "Eat a cookie, go shower because you stink, and Franny and I will be ready to go when you are."

He sniffed his pit after he took a bite of the cookie. He didn't stink, thank you very much. The cookie was pretty fucking good, and he said so, "Good cookies, Franny's coming?" Not that it was an issue, he thought Franny was pretty cool and easy to be around for a kid.

"Yeah, Debs has to work late on some project for a yuppie lesbian that just moved to the area." They rolled their eyes in tandem; the South Side was going to shit.

He finished the cookie, and Franny immediately selected another and handed it over to him, "Okay, last one before I go shower. These are really good." He didn't miss the preening Franny responded with to his compliment.

"Thanks, Uncle Mick; we made 'em special for you and Uncle Ian." She had her hands clasped together in front of her like she was positively thrilled with herself.

It was pretty special. "Really? That's so cool. You know Ian loves chocolate chip cookies." Mickey personally preferred a ginger spice cookie.

Sandy cut in before Franny could delay him further, which he was grateful for. Franny was a sweet kid, but she was a chatterbox. "Let's let Mickey go get ready, and then we will have about forty minutes to talk in the truck when we drive him into town." While Franny wasn't looking at Sandy, she made a shooing motion, encouraging him to move quickly to make his exit, and then she lifted Franny down from the counter.

Heading up the kitchen steps to the next floor, he called over his shoulder, "Thanks for the cookies, Fran, talk soon."

"You're welcome, Mickey!" The last screeched up the steps after him. Holy shit, that kid had lungs.

Moving as quickly as he could, he got out of his tactical gear, shoving them in the dirty clothes to be dealt with later. Double checked he had the spare bottle of lube in his bag, which was obviously the most critical priority. He also retrieved his special gift for Ian where he had tucked it in the back of the closet and buried it in the bottom of the bag. He had already made arrangements for the second part of the gift with the hotel spa. He was trying to be more romantic with Ian but wow, it was way fuckin' harder than he expected.

Twenty minutes later, he was back downstairs, scrubbed clean and in fresh clothes, itching to leave. True to her word, Sandy had Franny bundled up complete with mittens. She was very carefully holding a paper plate with the cookies covered in saran wrap. Sandy handed over his coat from off the peg while she shrugged on her own.

"Mickey, these are for you to eat with Ian on your special Honey Moon weekend." Distinct pause between the two words. Franny tried to hand them over while Mickey was putting on his jacket, and he rescued them from her precarious hold as soon as he was done.

"Thanks, Fran, I am sure we will love them," he remembered to smile at her and then corrected, "It's a honeymoon. All one word." They were working with her on pronunciation, and while he didn't really give a fuck if she said it correctly, apparently, all the Gallaghers seemed to be pretty intent on helping her as her language developed.

"Right. Honey. Moon." She smiled back.

Whatever, next week was early enough for her to figure out that word. "Uh, yeah, close enough, kid." Grabbing his bag off the floor where he had set it while putting on his coat, he began hustling both out the door. He wanted to get on the road and underneath his husband as soon as possible.

After they were on their way towards the North Side and Franny had talked herself asleep from the back seat. She was strategically located in the middle seat because, apparently, that was the safest location. It was hard to believe there were so many rules about raising kids, certainly not something he or Sandy had experienced.

Feeling a little awkward, he still wanted to be sure to say it, "Um so," he itched his nose and cleared his throat, "I just wanna say thanks, ya know, for helping Ian plan this," he could tell he was blushing a little, "And also, helping when he was sick."

Milkovich's didn't really do sincerity well.

"Course." She cleared her throat, "He was pretty intent on doing it."

He thought she would leave it there, and he would have been fine getting lost in his head thinking about the weekend, but she continued.

"You know he found that wedding planning notebook you did when he was still sick?" she inquired.

"Yeah, he said he found it when he was coming out of his depression." Ian had glossed over the details, and Mickey knew he didn't like talking about his depression once he was out of a dip, so he hadn't pressed him.

"He's a pushy bastard when he wants to be," Sandy chuckled as she continued, "not as bad as you were when planning the wedding, but it's a close call."

Mickey knew Ian could be a pushy bastard when he wanted to be, which was most of the time. Everyone thought he was the loudmouth, and he was, but Ian on a mission was a force of nature too. "Yeah, he can be a dick about things." Mickey both loved that part of his personality while also frequently being annoyed as fuck by the same trait.

"Every day for that week he started getting better but was still super low; he would get online and google stuff." She was sitting with her arms crossed but relaxed, thinking about it and sharing, "He was very insistent that I take notes for him so he could keep track of his plans." He didn't have to see her to know she was rolling her eyes, "And he talks a lot; he wanted to talk through all the options and plans."

It warmed Mickey to think about Ian putting so much effort in. He had seen it himself, his enthusiasm about planning this. It was a little surprising since he'd been borderline apathetic about the planning for their actual wedding day.

"He was very insistent that this not get ruined like your wedding, and the original honeymoon was." She tucked her hair behind her ear, "And most afternoons, he would tire himself out from the planning and fall asleep on the couch." She cleared her throat and had a serious tone, "I think planning helped to bring him out of his funk earlier."

Mickey had wondered, it had still been a rough nearly three weeks, but after the first week of deep depression, he had seemed to improve more quickly than in the past. Some of that could have been the medications, but having a focus and project obviously hadn't hurt either.

"He really wants you to be happy," said in a soft voice.

"Fuck, I am happy." So goddamn happy he got worried sometimes that he was going to lose it all. Swallowing, he continued on, "He makes me really happy." He was working on sharing, on opening up. Figured he was pretty safe with Sandy; they had always been relatively close.

"These fucking Gallaghers," She sighed deeply, "the redheads at least are pretty irresistible." They both laughed a little at that. Cause it was true. It was embarrassing how much they were both smitten kittens for their respective Gallagher.

"Things going okay between you and Debs?" Sometimes it was hard to tell with those two. It never seemed bad exactly, but Debbie could be caught up in her own bullshit. Mickey worried for Sandy; he knew what it was like to get your heart broken.

"They're fine, although I don't really know what the fuck we're doing?" Mickey looked over, and Sandy had her face scrunched up in question, "Like I essentially live at the house, but I can't tell that Debbie has realized that." She picked at the cuticle on her thumbnail, "And I help with Franny," She turned to look in the backseat since neither of them had heard a peep from her since they got in the car. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Mickey could see she was zonked out. "But like, is it going anywhere?" Sandy turned back around and looked out the window.

"Do you want it to go somewhere?" He was genuinely curious.

"I do, I really fucking do." Almost a whisper.

"Have you spoken to her?" He kept glancing over at her; he decided she didn't look upset so much as like she was thinking and considering her words wisely.

"Not really?" Said like a question, "Just worried if I ask, I might hear an answer I don't want."

"What kind of an answer do you think you would get?" It seemed like Debbie was into Sandy, but also Debbie was a chaos creator, so it could be hard to pin her down.

"I don't know." Pause, "But seeing you and Ian make it work out despite all you have been through," that was an understatement, "kinda makes me want more, maybe? Ya know?" Sandy just kinda shrugged her shoulders and bobbled her head like she wasn't even sure what she was trying to articulate.

He didn't respond right away because he did know. He knew a lot about wanting more. About wanting something that felt unattainable. Or something you didn't feel worthy of. He wanted Sandy happy; he hoped that was with Debs, but if not her, then someone. Who knew some of the Milkovich's would like to be tied down so much?

"Yeah, I know," he cleared his throat, trying not to think of all those years without Ian, "We went through a lot of fucking bullshit to get to where we're at." Another understatement, "It doesn't have to be that hard. Talk to Debs. For your sake, I hope it's with her, but if it's not, then you gotta consider moving on." Deep breath, "You deserve to be happy and have a woman who wants to be by your side." He didn't know if his words were helpful or not, but he felt them strongly. Sandy was so fucking loyal; she might stay even when it wasn't right for her, even if she wasn't getting her needs met. Although he'd made choices like that for himself, he thought it might hurt to watch her do the same.

She snickered a little, "When did the Milkovich name become code for mushy queers?" She seemed tickled with this thought, and so did Mickey. They both laughed and moved on in the conversation, neither wanting to dwell too long on the possibility that her relationship could go south if she started to press Debs. It wasn't long before he pulled up in front of the Waldorf Astoria, where Ian had reserved a room for their special celebration.

"Holy shit," Mickey left the truck running and got out so Sandy could take over, but stared up at the swanky façade with its purple awnings and then glanced over at the roundabout he was temporarily parked in. At the center was a fountain and greenery. Even though it wasn't running because of the frozen temperatures, it was clearly well maintained and the nicest place he had ever considered staying. He felt a little intimidated and out of his league. He knew his knuckle tatts and casual clothes were probably not the clientele they were aiming for.

Sandy came up to stand beside him, also staring up at the exterior of the building in awe. "Fuck, Mickey," she breathed out.

It wasn't helping the jitters, "Yeah." Swallowing, he decided to get this show on the road. His husband was in there, and his place was by his side. He could deal with a little humiliation if it meant being behind closed doors with him for the better part of four evenings and five days.

Feeling tacky as he watched a businessman walk through the entrance with a rolling suitcase, he grabbed his stuffed duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder along with the plate of homemade cookies. Whatever, it was what it was. Swallowing, he bumped shoulders affectionately with Sandy as she went to get in the truck, "Tell Fran thanks again for the cookies when she wakes up, I am sure Ian will love them."

Sandy paused and turned with a quizzical look on her face, and he was about to ask her what the fuck her problem was when she flung her arms around him in a giant hug, which he couldn't fend off without dropping the plate of cookies. What. The. Fuck. Milkovich's weren't huggers, that's for goddamn sure. Stepping back quickly, also seeming embarrassed by her affection, she just said, "You deserve this, Mickey, don't you let some bougie dickwad in a three-piece suit make you feel like that's not the case."

Mickey could only just blink at her for a minute, speechless, unsure what to even say in response to that declaration, and by the time he might have been able to say something, she had already pulled away with a wave. And stupid as it may have been, it gave him a little boost of confidence. Hitching the bag on his shoulder so it was more comfortable, he made his way over to the entrance and into the lobby.

The inside was possibly even more awe-inspiring, and Mickey just tried to swallow his anxiety and swagger forward. He just had to get past the front desk and into the room, and the honeymoon could begin. Seeing the slim man behind the counter, probably around his own age, give him a huge smile and wave him forward, he moved ahead and set the cookies on the counter.

"Hello," said in a strange sing-song voice, the receptionist greeted him, "and who might you be, and I'll get you all squared away, in a jiffy." He was awfully enthusiastic.

Clearing his throat, he set the duffle bag down and grabbed his wallet from his back pocket, "Mickey Milkovich, should be a reservation under Ian Gallagher." He blushed a little. He hadn't thought through what it would look like to be checking in with another man when the room had a single king bed. I mean, it looked like exactly what it was, and yeah, he was out, but old tapes were hard to get rid of, and he suddenly felt exposed, ready to be on the defensive.

The man behind the counter, wearing a name tag labeled Peyton, looked extra excited. "Oh, Mr. Milkovich of the Gallagher/Milkovich makeup honeymoon weekend?" He looked askance, and Mickey just nodded his head. Not sure why Peyton knew so much, "We are so excited to welcome you. Mr. Gallagher arrived a bit ago, and he mentioned upon check-in the reason for your stay." Payten clapped his hands together in obvious glee, "I love a good romance; I was able to upgrade your room for the stay. You now have a suite with a terrace, which of course has a stunning view of downtown along with a fireplace and the extra-large soaking tub, a standard amenity in most of the rooms on that level."

Okay, not the reception Mickey had thought he was going to get. He glanced around quickly to make sure he wasn't being punked, but the giant marble lobby only had a few people in it. They were all engaged on their phones other than one man in the corner sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper. Nobody cared.

Blowing out a breath, he looked back at Payton, who was handing his driver's license back to him, "Um, Thanks." He itched his nose in nervousness.

Leaning forward like they were buds, Peyton walked Mickey through all of the amenities he should avail himself of while he was there to make the most of his stay. He went through when the breakfast hours opened up and his recommendation that they both try the croissant pain au chocolate, which Mickey had no fucking clue what that was, but he just nodded his head. There was a hot tub, a pool, several masseurs on staff, a workout center, and room service. There was more to the list, but at some point, it just became white noise. Somehow Peyton seemed to be excited on their behalf.

"I just love romance and am so glad you both chose our hotel as the place to celebrate your special occasion," Mickey tuned back in with those words, assuming they were close to wrapping this up. "Oh, and how sweet, someone made you homemade chocolate chip cookies." Peyton gestured flamboyantly at the paper plate of cookies piled high.

Mickey may not have the best awareness of other gays, but he was pretty sure he was picking up a gay vibe. Between that and his over the top enthusiasm, it kind of jammed his response function, and he was a little flustered. "Yeah, my niece made them for our Honey Moon." He said it in a way that was obviously mimicking the kid.

"Oh my god, isn't that the cutest?" Peyton's eyes couldn't get any bigger. It was honestly going to freak Mickey out in a hot second.

"Um, yeah," itching his brow, "it's pretty cute." He wasn’t sure if he'd ever used that word.

"Okay," he patted the air in front of him while he obviously thought, "Yes, okay, I have an idea. I will send a little extra gift from the hotel, just to make sure you have the most fantastic stay here." And then he, honest to god, acted like he was going to swoon; he was so excited for them. Clearly, Peyton had high expectations for their weekend.

The absolute ridiculousness of the interaction finally struck Mickey as funny, and he snorted and then laughed. Which only made Peyton give an even larger smile.

"You're a fuckin' strange little dude, you know that?" Mickey just shook his head at him. He wasn't sure why, because they had absolutely nothing in common from what he could see, but he thought the man was hilarious.

Giving him a startlingly genuine smile and saying with just a little less affectation, Peyton nodded his head in acknowledgment, "Yes, I am, but now you're more relaxed than when you walked in that door, don't you think?"

Bobbing his head in agreement that he had been put at ease somehow by Peyton's theatrics, he unwrapped one corner of the cookies. "Want some cookies? They're fuckin' good, man."

Pursing his lips, Peyton considered, "I really shouldn't; it's not professional, and I certainly don't need the extra calories."

Looking over the counter in confusion at the very trim waist Mickey just rolled his eyes, "Fuck professionalism, have a few cookies."

He saw Peyton bite the edge of his lip in indecision before quickly opening a drawer behind the counter and pulling out a napkin to set his cookie on as he snuck one out.

"Take a few more; Ian and I don't need that many just between the two of us." He wasn't sure why it mattered, but he really felt thankful that his anxiety had taken a step back.

Peyton looked around to make sure nobody was monitoring him before sneaking a few more, and he tucked them into his drawer behind the counter for safekeeping. With a prim look on his face, Peyton thanked him.

Mickey waved away the thanks and continued, "I also made," he cleared his throat and felt his face flame as he realized what he had to ask for, "a reservation for, um," shit when did it get so hot in the lobby, "for a couples massage," the last was said in a rush.

He was back to looking anywhere but at Peyton. He hadn't really thought this part through; he'd thought calling to make the arrangements on the phone a few days ago was embarrassing, but this was ten times worse.

Payton just carried on like it was a completely normal conversation topic, and that helped Mickey relax a little more, shoulders dropping down from where they had tensed up. Sliding open a different drawer, he flipped through a series of cream envelopes with scalloped edges on the flap. Locating the one he was looking for, he handed it over. On the back, in beautiful, if difficult to read, calligraphy, the envelope was labeled "Milkovich & Gallagher" with little embellishments around their surnames. It was needlessly fancy, and he bet Ian was going to love it, and if Mickey himself didn't hate it, that was okay too. He unzipped his duffle and tucked it in along the side, careful to ensure he didn't smudge off any of the ink so it would be pristine for Ian.

Peyton moved onto a practiced spiel while handing him his keycard along with directions for finding his room on the third floor. Just minutes later, Mickey was standing outside their reserved room. Assuming Ian hadn't left after checking in, he was on the other side of the door. The butterflies returned with a vengeance, and Mickey breathed in deep before sliding the keycard into the door reader. With a snick, the door opened, and he shoved his way through, making sure his duffel bag didn't get caught on the handle.

The room continued to capitalize on the lobby's grey and white color scheme with silver and purple accents. It managed to be elegant and understated but still felt cozy, unlike the lobby had been. On the floor were rose petals, which he had followed down a short hall. The petals continued up the bed, with its charcoal blue comforter, and that's where Mickey found Ian, wrapped in a plush hotel robe waiting for him with a big smile on his face. Mickey had a moment to note the floor to ceiling windows and that that room was overall spacious. Still, Mickey figured he didn't have any good reference point, given he'd only ever been in cheap roadside motels when he had to stay over somewhere on a run in his youth and, of course, their first honeymoon.

He didn't have much more time to observe anything else as Ian practically vaulted off the bed and had him slammed up against the wall, duffle bag tumbling to the floor. His head took a knock, but they were too busy kissing and aggressively pawing at each other for Mickey to give a fuck. This is precisely what he had been dying for, fantasizing about all day. For weeks actually. Ever since the dinner when he had found out about the plan. Just him and Ian, no interruptions, no distractions. Mickey couldn't wait any longer; he opened Ian's robe, and seeing that Ian was naked beneath, he sank to his knees. Ian stumbled back, and Mickey caught him by the hips, steadying him and using it as leverage at the same time to get Ian buried in the back of his throat.

"Oh fuck, Mickey," Ian was fisting his hair, holding his head just where he wanted now that he had steadied himself and could slide his dick in and out of his mouth. Mickey loved it, loved when Ian got this way, loved the feeling of his thick cock on his tongue, at the back of his throat, occasionally making him choke or cutting off his airway. He was drooling down his shirt, and his dick was painfully hard, but it didn't matter. "Been thinking about fucking you up against the window." Forcing his way deeper, Mickey had to work on relaxing his throat while listening to Ian paint a filthy picture, "Want to fuck you so deep and hard, looking at the skyline, show off to anyone looking."

Holy shit, Mickey didn't think he had an exhibitionism kink, but the thought of Ian putting him on display sent such a gut-punch of desire ripping through his system that he shoved Ian back, sucking in a breath and wiping his sloppy chin as he looked up at Ian. "Fuck, fuck," he was trying to get a grip; he was so turned on he was already close to the edge. "Let's do it," he stood up while unbuckling his pants. Ian had already discarded the robe, and he reached over, gripped Mickey by the back of the neck, and shoved him toward the giant bay of floor to ceiling windows. Oh, shit, this was hitting all of Mickey's physical and mental checkboxes; this kind of manhandling always did it for him, and Ian exploited it, given half an opportunity.

Ian detoured momentarily to the bedside table and snagged the lube and a side chair. Mickey quickly got fully naked and stood looking out the window. It was a third-floor room. Someone would have to be looking up toward their window to see anything. It was probably unlikely anyone could get an eyeful with tinting, but the illusion of being so exposed was highly erotic while also being slightly disturbing. Ian didn't give him much of a chance to freak himself out. Ian placed the chair against the window and, without asking, shoved Mickey's leg up and then forced him forward by the nape of his neck again, and Mickey had to catch himself with his forearms to keep from crashing face-first into the glass. With his leg hitched up and bent forward, he was open to whatever Ian decided to do to him.

Ian had put him exactly where he wanted him. His job was to stay there. He heard the snick of the lube. Below he could see half a dozen people milling about as he felt Ian start to probe and stretch him. The dichotomy was unsettling and so goddamn hot he wasn't even sure he was going to last long enough for Ian to get inside him before he creamed all over the glass pane. Ian's prep wasn't gentle, but it was perfect; Mickey just needed him inside, wanted that stretch and burn and the feeling of Ian owning every part of him.

"Fuck, Ian," that sounded far closer to a whine than Mickey liked, "just get on me, I'm fine. Been taking your dick for years, just fuck me already." He could be a demanding bitch sometimes if that's what it took.

"Fuck you, that's not how any of this works," Ian emphasized his point as he inserted a third finger and did some perfunctory stretching. Even when Ian was desperate with lust, he always prepped Mickey, no matter how impatient or dismissive of the need Mickey was. Today was extremely brief by comparison; some might even call it rushed.

"That's what I thought," Mickey started to edge back, jonesing hard for that dick, "Fuck me, Gallagher, and like you fucking mean it." That seemed to be the nod Ian had been waiting for, and he pushed in; there was nothing soft about it. It took Mickey's breath away for a few seconds, but this wasn't his first rodeo. He tipped his hips, making the angle easier, and then he pushed back, moved Ian along. Ian must have also been close to the edge too because he slid in deep and paused for a minute, puffing breaths in and out as he rested his forehead in the crook of Mickey's neck, chest hair tickling his back. Ian put one palm on the window, and the other covered Mickey's FUCK hand. Mickey felt cocooned.

With another huff Ian started moving, "Fuck, Mick, not gonna last long." He hammered away, giving it to Mick just the way he liked it at times like these.

Mickey grunted as Ian bottomed out repeatedly, it was hard to form coherent sentences, "Me neither," Mickey was pretty sure he saw stars as Ian nailed his prostate over and over again. "Fuuuucckk," said long and low; his balls were pulling up, it wasn’t going to take much more. Biting his lip to try and focus on holding off for just a little longer, he looked out the window again.

Below, tucked to one side, was a little alcove Mickey hadn't noticed before, likely a smoking area. A man in a suit and long coat for the cool temperatures was casually sitting on the bench, legs crossed, smoke in one hand, and a large to-go coffee cup in the other. Watching. Making no secret, he was looking up at their window and observing. So much for nobody being able to peep. The man took a drag and blew out the smoke, and then using his coffee cup, he made a cheers motion. And holy fuck, Ian hit his prostate dead-on, and it was all over. "Oh goddamnit, coming, fuck," and he pounded his fist on the glass as he groaned through coming. Although he had been quick off the mark, he could feel it as Ian barreled over the edge right behind him. He had come untouched all over the windowpane, and he looked down to see several streaks drip down, and then the last few pulses dribbled down his own dick.

Ian fucked into him for a few more strokes as he shuddered through the last of his own orgasm. It didn't take long before Mickey felt slick and messy as Ian's spend began to travel down the backs of his thighs. This had been just what he needed or at least a start. Ian slumped against his back, and Mickey tipped his head against him, rubbed his cheek on Ian's head, which rested on his shoulder. He realized his eyes were shut, and he had lost track of the man watching them, but when he looked down to see if he was still there, the man was gone. Mickey was certain he hadn't been a figment of his imagination. He was pretty sure. Mostly.

Huffing out a laugh, Mickey turned his face and kissed the side of Ian's head, "You're a kinky bastard." He squeezed the fingers still laced with his own against the glass.

Ian bit his neck softly, both of them shivering just a little at the extra stimulation. Ian had a thing about leaving marks around his neck and collar. It was embarrassing, but they both got off on it so much in the moment that they rarely thought ahead. "You already knew that." Ian carefully pulled out, causing more come to rush out of him. This position was hell for gravity.

"True." He moved his leg down from the chair, "Alright, I gotta shower now." He was starting to feel tacky between his cheeks, and that wasn't an enjoyable sensation.

"Oh shit, you haven't seen the bathroom yet." With a small laugh, Ian tugged Mickey behind him. It had been a long time since Mickey had seen Ian this lighthearted, and it was such a sight to behold he felt himself smiling again.

Into the bathroom, they went, "Holy shit," Mickey breathed out in awe. Looking around, he could see the bathroom was about the same size as their bedroom at home. The shower was tile with two separate shower heads and big enough for two people and probably more. On the opposite side was a huge soaker tub. The bathroom was all in cool gray tile, granite, and chrome finish. Mickey knew without a shadow of a doubt it was the nicest bathroom he had ever been inside in his entire life.

Ian seemed downright gleeful as he grabbed the complimentary soap and shampoo and put it on the ledge built into the side of the shower, and flipped on both of the overhead faucets to let the water temperature warm-up. Ian moved over and fiddled with the light switch by the door and turned the lights down to a soft glow along with some overhead heat lamp set up lights. Mickey could see how it would be nice because it would keep the bathroom's temperature at a pleasant spot for being naked, probably even more so when just out of the shower. Shaking his head at creature comforts he had never even contemplated existing, he got in the shower.

"I messed around with this stuff before you got here," Ian relayed to him, but he was clearly focused on some specific mission. He was flicking on some other button near the towel rack by the shower. Mickey just kept soaping down while watching him through the transparent shower door pane. Ian disappeared and then reappeared and had two robes in hand, which he set aside on the double vanity. Finally done with his little tasks, he stepped into the huge shower and under the warm spray. As his hair became soaked, it became even darker than usual, and he smiled down at Mickey as water streamed down his face.

Mickey couldn't help but give him a stupid smile in return. It was their makeup honeymoon, he figured unregulated smiling was acceptable, and he was just going to go with it. Mickey stepped forward, out of the warm stream he had been standing in, and began running his soapy hands through the perfect light pelt of hair on Ian's chest. He liked Ian any way he could get him, he had enjoyed the years when he shaved or waxed his chest hair, but he would be lying if he didn't admit he had a particular affinity for the natural look.

Without the threat of the water running out, they stood under the combined spray for a long time, just engaging in some good old-fashioned making out. The soap was high quality, and their skin felt soft after washing every nook and cranny, long past any practical reason other than it felt good to take the time to touch. At some point, Ian washed Mickey's hair, massaging his scalp and moving down to his shoulders. Mickey nearly fell asleep it was so relaxing. As they started to prune up, they both turned off their respective shower head and stepped out and onto a thick bath mat.

Ian handed Mickey a towel with a "check this out" comment that confused Mickey.

Until he grasped the towel. It was warm. "What the fuck?" He might be confused, but he began drying off, the warm towel; an indulgence he hadn't been aware had been missing in his life.

"Towel warmer," Ian nodded, pleased with his discovery while he dried himself off as well. He pulled a third towel down after tying the other around his waist and began drying off his hair. Mickey was getting ready to do the same when Ian shifted seamlessly over to drying his hair for him. Much like having his hair washed, Mickey could do nothing but enjoy the ministrations. He was a complete homo, but he got embarrassingly gooey when Ian took care of him like this. He hoped it didn't show too much but that was a distant worry and not significant enough to make him move away. Eventually, his hair was dry enough that Ian stopped and then handed him one of the two bathrobes.

Both of their hair was half dry and fluffy, and Mickey couldn't help but reach up and smooth Ians back down, pulling him down for a slow meeting of the mouths. Under the heat lamps their skin was warm and perfect for slow exploration. When the kiss ended, Ian grinned down at him and then handed him a robe while pulling on the one he had been using.

Mickey pulled it on and belted it. The robe was an enormous step up from the ratty one he had at home that had come from who knows where passed down by multiple Gallaghers. The sleeves were too long, so he rolled those up but overall, worth it. Wandering out and into the main room, Mickey had to laugh softly and shake his head at all the rose petals. They were everywhere. It was also the first time he had paid attention to the bouquet of blue Stargazer Lillis sitting on the nook table. There was a small note card sticking out of it addressed to him.  
He checked to make sure Ian was still in the bathroom messing around with hanging the towels or playing with more hidden hotel amenities Mickey was yet unaware of, and once he confirmed he was occupied, he leaned in and smelled them. He had really wanted these flowers on his wedding day but had gone with simple white after dealing with the homophobic florist. He'd always wondered what they smelled like. They had a strong floral scent without being overwhelming. Pulling the card out addressed to himself, he opened it and saw in Ian's script a note, To the husband of my dreams, may this weekend and our future be filled with gold star experiences. Mickey snorted; it was so sappy. It totally made his whole chest feel like it was glowing from the inside out and he felt so absolutely loved at this moment. How he was anyone's dream husband, let alone Ian's, was a marvel, but he wasn't going to question it.

He grabbed his bag, pulled out the small box at the bottom, and the envelope to set on the little table next to the cookies, and then shoved his bag in the closet. Some things were too far and unpacking his clothes for four days so he could turn around and repack them seemed ridiculous. Ian's shirts were hung in the closet, and he assumed his pants were already in one of the drawers. Who was the homo now?

Ian sauntered into the room finally and immediately hopped on the bed, laying back against the excessive number of pillows.

Snagging two cookies, Mickey walked up on the bed, much to Ian's giggling delight, and straddled his hips before he dropped down to sit on Ian's lap. He popped a cookie in Ian's mouth, and Ian reached up to grab it after he'd taken a bite. And they just sat there, eating a cookie and looking at each other, soaking in each other's presence. Mickey had a hand resting on Ian's chest, tucked into the V of the robe.

Then it went on just a little too long, and Ian barely got out a "Hey" before Mickey was latching onto his mouth, both still tasting of sweetness and chocolate. It was intense as they both vied for dominance of the kiss at first and then gentled back, gripping hands turned into soft caresses. They finally both had to come up for air, panting. Mickey felt so many good and happy feelings all at once he could barely keep the squirrelly sense of joy inside as he sat back a little, wiped his mouth, and looked around at the rose petals. It was really over the top and ridiculous, and it made Mickey feel foolish but in a young hearted and carefree way, and he couldn't help it. He flopped back and spread his arms and legs out like he was making a snow angel on the king-sized bed covered in the petals.

Ian laughed and lay down beside him. Now he tucked a hand into Mickey's robe and rested a palm on his chest. Somehow just that touch grounded him, helped all the feelings building inside that could quickly move into angst simmer back down. Ian generally helped him ease back when he got too close to the edge.

"I find the amenities provided suitable," Mickey said in a replica of Payton's voice and nailed the lilt as he indicated their robes and the petals. He reached up and rubbed Ian's arm and hand resting across his chest. It didn't often happen these days, he had gotten used to touching and being touched frequently by Ian, but sometimes he still got caught in the emotion of being able to touch so freely behind closed doors and would suddenly be in awe that this was his life now. He got to touch Ian whenever he wanted, casually, affectionately, with passion, or just for comfort. Anytime. That freedom had felt so tentative at first, so unreal. Even different than when they had first been together in their youth, before either of them had really had adult hardship, just a couple of South Side punks getting their rocks off. Mickey'd had it all ripped away enough times to be nearly superstitious about them getting back together. Now the fear of impermanence was fleeting, but it could still send a shiver down his spine, make him clutch whatever part of Ian was within reach, this time his hand. Hold on, because he could. He swallowed and mentally assured himself this was real.

He still wasn't good with affection out in public, although their neighborhood walks each evening where he sometimes subtly hooked his pinky finger with Ian's was helping him get slightly bolder. That always felt daring in their neighborhood even though he was out; everybody knew, and he was sure it was only his reputation that kept him from getting harassed more directly. Sometimes he yearned to touch the small of Ian's back or tuck into his side, but he didn't; he'd freeze up instead when they were out in public. Not Ian, Ian slung his arm over Mickey's shoulders, would rest his hand on his back when he was standing behind him. For some reason, those touches didn't freak him out, but something about him reaching out was still hard. It was a thing he had thought about more than he would ever admit, a thing he wanted to be better at. For Ian, because he deserved to be openly loved, and maybe even a little bit for himself.

Shaking his head to clear it and leaning up into another kiss, which turned into another and another. Neither trying to rush anything along. Both were startled by the firm knock on the door. Ian raised his brow at the interruption and looked confused. Mickey recalled Peyton's excitement as he scooted off the bed and tightened the belt of the robe, "Pretty sure that's whatever Peyton was having delivered as a special gift for our honeymoon." Getting up to head to the door, Mickey called over his shoulder, "He seemed weirdly happy for us."

He heard Ian snicker behind him. Ian was generally much more comfortable dealing with the gays than Mickey was; he'd probably hit it off right away with the front desk fairy. Opening the door, he was surprised when nobody was there but instead, there was a tray on a stand beside the door. On the tray was a plate with a dozen big chocolate-covered strawberries, several candles, and a bottle of something. Wow, Peyton was really going the extra mile. He grabbed just the tray and left the stand for someone else to deal with, then he shut and locked the door. Ian was sitting up now in one of the chairs, eating another cookie.

Mickey set the tray on the small table and watched as Ian's face lit up when he saw the strawberries, "No way! I've only had chocolate covered strawberries once before, and they were so good." He popped the last of the cookie in his mouth and then focused on selecting a strawberry. "Have you ever had them?"

Shrugging and shaking his head no, "Nah, wasn’t really a lot of chocolate-covered strawberry opportunities growing up," thinking about it a little more, he snorted, "or in prison or Mexico." Mickey was getting ready to retrieve the gifts he had put on the side table when he was gently yanked back by the belt; Ian encouraged him to sit on his lap again. Mickey went willingly, straddling Ian's thighs and laying his arms over his shoulders. This was one of his favorite ways to sit.

Ian held up a strawberry for him to eat and although Mickey rolled his eyes but took a bite anyways. It was really good, like the perfect balance of sweet fruitiness and chocolate. He hummed in satisfaction as he watched Ian take the second bite of the strawberry. There was something suggestive about watching him eat the beautiful treat. He felt himself harden a little at the vision of feeding one to Ian while riding him on the giant bed covered in rose petals. With a bit of luck, he could make that happen.

Sliding off Ian's lap and ignoring his attempts to get him back, he batted his hands away while laughing, "Just a minute, man, let me get your gift." Gathering them off the side table, he said, "Might as well do this now." He was stupidly anxious, not sure how Ian would respond to either gift, really. He mumbled quickly after clearing his throat, "I like the flowers," while his back was still to Ian. He heard Ian snort, but he didn't say anything.

Mickey returned to the chair across from Ian, who was now inspecting the bottle that had come with the hotel's gifts, and Mickey could see it was a bottle of bubble bath. He was pretty sure with the giant soaking tub, it was going to get put to good use. Ian set it aside as Mickey put the box and envelope on the table and slid them over. He motioned for Ian to put his feet in his lap and began to rub his arches. Ian always seemed to love having his feet rubbed, something Mickey had started doing when he worked long hours at the distribution center in the fall. It gave Mickey something to do, something to focus on. He felt his face get warm as he glanced up briefly as Ian began opening the box.

He waited as Ian bit his lip at seeing what was inside the box. He didn't say anything. Mickey's nervousness skyrocketed in an instant. Maybe he had misstepped, misunderstood, he stumbled through an explanation, "It's a small plug, should hit your prostate when you're fucking me." They had talked about this in the last few weeks, and Mickey had been sure Ian had been down for trying.

Ian suddenly pulled his feet away, and Mickey felt his stomach drop. He didn't think his gift would be an issue, certainly not enough for Ian to be miffed. However, as Ian stood up, he gave him a firm kiss on the lips, then went over to the other side table and retrieved something. It was the spiral notebook Ian had been taking notes in for weeks as they planned their makeup honeymoon together. He flipped towards the back and laughed a little as he tossed it down on the table.

Mickey turned it, so the list was easier to read. Holy fuck. It was titled Gold Star Experiences.

It was a list of sexual stuff; some they had talked about trying, others were new.

Many of the more taboo shit on there were things Mickey had secretly masturbated to. Third from the bottom was Prostate Plug while Fucking Mickey.

Mickey looked up and could see Ian's cheeks were slashes of red, obviously turned on by the list he had produced. "What's this?"

Clearing his throat and giving a little smile, obviously pleased with himself, Ian explained, "I started a list of sexual experiences I wanted to have with you and have been adding to the list every time something came up." Clearing his throat, he tapped at the last item on the list, "like this was added today when I showed up in the room before you got here."

The last item on the list was Fuck mickey against the hotel window. Mickey snorted with laughter.  
Ian pulled the pen tucked in the spiral out and crossed it off the list.

Swallowing and feeling himself blush harder, he stuck his hand out, silently asking for the pen. Ian handed it over, and he added one to the bottom of the list. Ride Ian while feeding him chocolate-covered strawberries. Writing it was good. Mickey wasn't sure he would have been able to say that out loud.

Ian pulled the notebook back around so he could read the words, then nodded his head in agreement, "Fuck yeah." Then he put a little star by the plug one, "I think we might be able to do these at the same time. For efficiency." He gave Mickey a cheeky grin.

Mickey swallowed, just thinking about it. "Fuck yeah," he mimicked. He was so on board for that.

Ian picked up the envelope, turned it over, ran his fingers over the embossed and scalloped edging before he opened it. With more of the fancy scroll, inside was a certificate for a couples massage on Saturday at the hotel spa. Mickey watched as Ian got a little choked up and then gave him a brilliant smile.

He rubbed his thumb against his eyebrow and then scratched his nose; he was so far outside of his comfort zone here. "I um," deep breath, "I know you said you wanted to do more romantic things together, and I thought this might count."

Ian just kept looking at him like he was someone important, then he leaned forward and grasped the edges of his robe, pulled him in for a series of sweet kisses on the lips. "It totally counts." One more kiss, "I can't wait." Then Ian deepened the kiss, and Mickey was all in. He couldn't imagine a time when he didn't absolutely want everything Ian was willing to give him.

"Let's check those boxes." Both of them stood and shimmied out of their robes as they continued to be glued to each other. Ian wrapped Mickey up with arms around his head and shoulders, and Mickey squeezed tightly around Ian's waist. Mickey's lips felt slightly swollen from all the kissing, but he wasn't about to complain, and between that tenderness and his hole that was clenching, ready to be filled and stretched again, he knew the evening was only going to get better.

Breaking away, he gently pushed Ian back until he was next to the bed, "Alright, firecrotch, get on the bed face down." Mickey planned to make this so good for Ian, wanted him to love it as much as he did. Ian bottomed on occasion and enjoyed it, but they tended to stay the way they had started; however, they recently began intentionally exploring. Mickey was excited to try more with Ian and to see what else they enjoyed together. Ian silently got on the bed, cleared the rose petals off a pillow, and tucked it under his face. His brawny back and arms flexed as he moved, and his supple ass and thick thighs on display were indeed a vision. Casually caressing Ian's calf, Mickey couldn't help himself, "Fuck, you're so fuckin' hot. Always have been." Ian smiled a little and just buried his face in the pillow. Mickey knew it was hard for Ian to take compliments, but he didn't refute them. That was progress. Knowing it was an area of sensitivity for Ian, Mickey tried to convey his appreciation for Ian's physical attributes when he would catch himself in awe at how beautiful he thought Ian was.

Mickey stepped away to gather up the few items needed, including the little silver plug, lube, a hand towel, and the bathroom's complimentary lotion. Coming back, he dumped all of it beside Ian on the bed before straddling his ass. He took a moment and rutted against Ian's cheeks as Ian lifted his hips and rubbed back. Just a little to relieve the ache. He kissed along Ian's back and shoulders before he sat back and grabbed the lotion. Rubbing it between his hands, he began massaging Ian at the top of his shoulders and down his muscular back. Ian moaned and relaxed even further, pushing up into Mickey's hands, really taking in the sensation.

"Love being able to touch you, man." Mickey hadn't really planned on saying anything, but this space felt like a million miles away from any of the reasons he would be reluctant to say something like that. Ian's shoulders loosened, and so did Mickey's tongue. "I have a hard time sleeping if you aren't beside me." Ian hummed because he already knew this and had asked about it when he was working the late shift, and Mickey would wait up for him, unable to sleep without him anyways. Leaning down to kiss along Ian's back, "even when I got heat for it in prison, I never regretted having your name on my chest." His face was warm, and yeah, maybe he was a little embarrassed, but it also felt cleansing in some ways to confess this to Ian's back. Ian reached down with one hand and clutched one of the thighs straddling him, and yeah, Ian got it. Was silently praising him for his confession.

Moving off of Ian, he encouraged him up on his knees, which Ian did while burying his face in the pillow, his toes curling as Mickey used his thumb to press gently at his entrance. Mickey grabbed both cheeks and leaned down, tasting him. He felt Ian shiver on his tongue at the sensation. Taking it slowly, he helped Ian's hole relax and open. Ian groaned long and low when he finally slipped his tongue inside.

"Mickey," Ian began pushing back, looking for more. "So good." He arched his back a little as Mickey slipped in a finger; he moved to tap Ian's prostate after a bit like the plug would once it was fully inserted. "Oh, oh god," Ian came up on his forearms now.

"You like that tough guy?" Mickey knew he did, but it was so hot to watch Ian squirm on his tongue and fingers.

"Yes," Ian said with a hiss. He rocked back on Mickey's face as he went back to eating him out.

Mickey spent more time opening him, sliding his tongue inside, and getting him good and wet before coating him in lube to make sure he was ready. Ian made continuous low moaning sounds as nerves were stimulated that didn't usually get so much attention. Mickey took the toy out of the box and made sure it was also slippery. He took a moment and watched Ian's hole as it clenched and unclenched, looking for something to fill it. Mickey felt deeply in sync; he knew that feeling, and he was edging there now himself.

Putting the bulb end of the shiny silver plug against Ian's entrance, he confirmed, "you ready?" and waited.

"Yes, god, hurry up and put it in me already," typical, bossy Ian even in bed, but it made Mickey smile.

Mickey began to insert the plug slowly and cautiously because, unlike Mickey, Ian wasn't generally into a rough entrance when doing anything with his ass, even when he was literally demanding it. To each their own.

Ian was making all kinds of low growling sounds, and as the plug stretched him at the largest section, he grunted and pushed back the last little bit until his hole closed around the base. Mickey watched as Ian's back rippled and he arched, the plug shifted as his hole clenched around it, and Ian whispered an, "of fuck." Mickey couldn't help himself; he jiggled the base, moving it to intentionally tap against his prostate; Ian just chanted, "fuck, fuck, fuck."

Smacking Ian's hip lightly, he directed, "Okay, onto your back." Mickey helped him turn over as Ian shivered at the shifting inside him. Mickey knew that feeling well; he loved it when Ian plugged and teased him. Ian stretched out, gripped the pillow behind him; he rolled his hips against the bed and moved his legs restlessly as he got used to the sensation. Mickey checked in while he rubbed his knuckle on Ian's thigh next to him, "You good?"

Ian just nodded while biting his lip. His cock was stiff and drooling fluids onto his own abdomen. Mickey decided not to prolong this more than necessary. He grabbed the plate of strawberries off the table and set them on the bed far enough away that he hoped they didn't get knocked off.

Back to straddling Ian's pelvis, he did a perfunctory job of spreading lube on Ian's very swollen dick and pushing some inside himself before wiping his hands on the towel and bracing on Ian's chest. Unlike Ian, he liked it a little rough, and he was already open enough from earlier. He didn't waste any time as Ian grasped his hips to steady him, and Mickey lined up Ian's dick and began to sink down. Oh god, this position was always intense.

Ian had his eyes clenched shut, clearly trying to process all of the sensations between Mickey sliding down his dick and the plug shifting inside him. He brought his knees up and pushed into Mickey that last bit. Mickey grunted, feeling the stretch on his rim. Almost too much, which meant it was just what he craved. He bit his lip as he braced his hands on Ian's chest again and worked himself on Ian's cock for a few minutes, both grunting and huffing. His dick bounced around as he focused on Ian filling him. When he had at least satisfied that need a little, he took a deep breath and sat back, rocking and clenching on the dick buried inside him. Ian clutched his thighs rhythmically, and Mickey was sure he would have five fingerprint bruises on each side; Ian gripped so hard. Mickey could only hope.

He paused, waited for Ian to stop shifting his hips impatiently. Ian finally clued in and calmed down enough to open his green eyes. Mickey smiled down at him, clenched around him again, and watched as he tried to get ahold of himself, the whole time low-level whimpering and growling. Obviously overwrought. Every time Mickey clasped the cock deep inside him or ground down, he knew the plug shifted and hit Ian's prostate. He knew because Ian would curl his shoulders up, and Mickey would swear he could feel Ian's dick pulse inside him.

Ian shuddered and then took a deep breath and, "Fuck Mickey, it's so much." A series of short and then longer breaths, and he seemed to finally settle. Micky rubbed his chest soothingly.

"I know, just try to relax and enjoy it, okay?" Mickey waited for Ian to nod, continuing to breathe deep.

Determining Ian was ready for the next part of his fantasy, he reached over and grabbed a strawberry from the plate and proceeded to dangle it over Ian's mouth. Ian leaned up and took the bite while Mickey rocked on his dick, causing them both to groan long and low. Mickey took a strawberry for himself. This was decadent in a way he had never even thought to dream about. All of this was so hot, hotter than the image he'd had in his head. Seeing Ian writhe below him, knowing he was already on the brink. When he was finished, he leaned down and kissed Ian long and slow and deep in counterpoint to Ian, who had gripped his hips and started fucking up into him in earnest.

"Shhh, shhh, I got you," Mickey moved his hands from Ian's chest and gripped one in his hair tightly and the other wrapped around his throat, firmly holding, giving Ian something to focus on between the tug on his scalp and the threat of restricting his breath. Ian tipped his head back, exposing more of his neck, and Mickey gripped his hair even tighter, keeping him stretched out, his adam's apple exposed, enjoying the sight of his long neck. "So hot knowing you are plugged and fucking me," Mickey put a little more pressure on his neck, "you like that too, Ian?"

"Yes," several huffs later, shivery and clearly on edge, "Fuck, so hot, Mickey."

Ian's face was red with exertion and lust; moving his hand, Mickey latched onto his neck hard, biting and sucking. He was going to leave a mark on Ian that would last days. With a garbled grunt, he felt Ian surge up and come, filling him up for a second time. Mickey unlatched from his neck, pressing his thumb against the bruise forming. He leaned back, clenched hard, and stroked himself to completion as well. He striped Ian's stomach and chest with his come. They both stayed that way, heaving for a few minutes, just staring at each other, both a little amazed and dazed. They had always had good chemistry, but tonight was off the charts.

When Mickey had recovered enough, he pulled off and went to clean up and get a wet rag. He came back to Ian, lying spread out, looking at the ceiling, totally debauched and spacy. "Fuck, Mick," said low and almost reverently. "It's always so good between us."

Mickey got it; he was feeling the same way. He just agreed, "yeah," and got back between Ian's knees. He propped Ian's knees up and began to slowly tug the plug out. Ian covered his eyes, sucked in a breath, clearly very sensitive now that he had come. He bit his lip and give a hard shiver as the plug came out. Mickey massaged his hole briefly, soothing his rim after so much stimulation. When Ian could finally take a deep breath, more in control of his faculties, Mickey used the warm wet rag he had brought in, cleaned him up, and then tossed it in the bathroom's general direction. Mickey slumped down beside him, rested his head on Ian's shoulder. He reached over and grabbed another strawberry off the plate that shockingly hadn't been upended and fed it to Ian, "This is going to be a gold star honeymoon for sure, firecrotch."

Ian closed his eyes and just hummed his agreement while eating the treat. "Already is," he said a moment later.

Ian brought his arms up and pulled Mickey in even closer. Mickey hid his face in Ian's chest, smiling to himself. He couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be than feeding his husband chocolate-covered strawberries between kisses.

**Valentines Day**

Ian's limbs felt heavy because he was so relaxed, enjoying the deep soaking tub with hot water and bubbles all around them. His husband sat behind him with arms and thighs wrapped securely around him; Ian was the little spoon right now since the bathtub was big enough to allow it. They had used the soaking tub each day, and the complementary candles had been burnt down most of the way. They had fucked all weekend, gone out on adventures, and relaxed. Days just to hang out and be with each other helped him feel centered and calmer than he could remember, possibly ever. He was sure as they returned to reality tomorrow and back to the Gallagher home, it wouldn't fully last, but he hoped some of it would remain. It made him yearn for a place all their own, just him and Mickey. A little corner of the world where they could regularly take time for themselves. Soon. He decided that needed to happen soon.

Mickey squeezed him from behind, kissed his temple, "Whatcha thinking 'bout?"

Mickey usually knew when he was thinking hard. He smiled softly and hummed, gripped the hands splayed on his chest, "You, us. What we want for our future. How much fun this has been. How proud I am of you."

He heard Mickey snort, "What the fuck have I done for you to be proud of?"

Ian linked their hands together, "For one, you held my hand in public." Ian felt Mickey's hand instinctively tighten on his, and he didn't say anything for a long while. Didn't really expect him to comment on it at all.

"Yeah, wanna give you what you need." With his head resting on Mickey's chest, he could hear and feel him swallow hard as he worked on expressing himself, "I know that shit is important to you." Another long pause, Ian just waited, "and I don't want to live," Mickey was talking slowly like he was figuring out what he wanted to say as he went, "with Terry's stupid voice in my head for the rest of my life." Mickey gripped almost painfully back on Ian's hand, "I want to be the man you deserve." The last said so quietly, so honestly. This was the Mickey behind closed doors others didn't get to see. The one who cared deeply and showed it through taking care of those around him. In small and large ways but behind the scenes, like he thought it made him a pussy to do things for others. Sometimes Ian still missed the ways Mickey cared for him, like the log tracking his illness and coordinating the family when he was unwell. Making their room more orderly because he understood it helped Ian.

It made Ian's heart break a little that Mickey still struggled with this, probably always would. It made him happy that he'd gotten to pamper him for a few days, cater to all the things Mickey's tough exterior made it hard for him to admit to wanting. At least right now. He had charged himself with being the carer of Mickey's soft mushy middle that most didn't even know existed. This is what taking care of each other, through thick and thin, meant.

"You are the man I want and the man I deserve," bringing their joined hands up to kiss Mickey's tattooed knuckles, which had defended him on multiple occasions, "You have stuck by me, been fiercely loyal to me on multiple occasions." Settling his head back against Mickey's sternum and feeling him wrap his legs even more firmly around his waist below the water, "I also don't want you to live under Terry's reign of homophobic terror, but that takes time." Ian thought Mickey had made good progress; he was more confident these days about being himself, being comfortable in his own skin. Ian could see when the old ways of thinking crept back in but could also see as he fought those demons back.

They had gone to the Natural History Museum on Friday, and Ian had teased Mickey about wearing one of his elephant shirts under his zip-up hoodie just for the occasion. Mickey had brushed it off as being a coincidence. He'd also bought another elephant shirt in the gift shop. It had been fun to watch Mickey be awestruck by some of the enormous fossils and ancient recreated scenes. Honestly, Ian wasn't all that interested in the museum. What he was into? Watching Mickey get caught up in something he enjoyed. Occasionally brushing hands or shoulders, Mickey had sometimes briefly reached for his hand when not many people were around.

Saturday, as they headed through the lobby, on their way to meet an Uber, Mickey had gripped his hand. Ian had nearly stopped walking; he'd been so startled. Looking down, he could see Mickey chewing his lip, clearly nervous about his choice but doing it anyway. Looking up, Peyton winked at him and gave a discreet wave as they walked past. Ian had nodded and smiled back, grateful the man had ensured their stay had been flawless. Mickey held his hand until their Uber arrived, and they had to break apart to get in the back seat.

They had gone ice skating, and Ian had felt like a coltish giraffe with his long legs he didn't seem to be able to keep control of. Mickey had been far more graceful than Ian, his stocky body able to find balance much more e asily. Ian had felt like he spent more time falling on his ass than he did actually skating. Eventually, after he had laughed at him falling repeatedly, Mickey had taken pity on him. He stood behind Ian, steadying him by gripping his hips and giving a counterbalance when his feet wanted to slide out from under him. He had instructed him on how to stand to more effectively brace on the blades and ice. He didn't get handsy or incredibly close, but Ian took it as a win that he also wasn't skating ten feet away from him or acting like they didn't know each other well. He was the same feisty and aggressive boy he had been as a teen, but he was more now. Life had thrown him a bunch of shitty circumstances that he had fought through. Had fought his way back to Ian, and while Ian wasn't sure if he was worth all that struggle, he would hold on tight anyways, on and off the ice.

After they got off the ice, they had cups of hot cocoa to warm up, which they had laced with peppermint schnapps taken from the mini bar in their room. Between that and several more of the small bottles of liquor, they had both been very relaxed by the time the couple's massage had rolled around. They were so relaxed after the massage they had both curled up for a nap in their room. They had ended their evening with delivery pizza, mutual handjobs, and the last of the cookies, and it had been genuinely perfect in Ian's book.

Today they had planned for a whole day of lazing about in their luxury hotel room. Squeezing the last bit of relaxation out of their time. This morning they had gone down and gotten coffee, and the Peyton recommended croissant pain au chocolate had been as good as promised. In fact, they had put in an order for a dozen to take home when they left tomorrow to share with the household. It seemed like a nice thanks to the various family members who had helped in some way to make it so they could have their second honeymoon. The family was having a delayed celebration for his birthday tomorrow night. Then Tuesday, it was back to the grindstone.

The water was cooling, and it pulled Ian out of musing in his mind about how perfect this time away had been. They would have to decide to refill it again for a third time with fresh hot water or get out. Ian turned in the bath, so he was facing Mickey, laying on his chest and between his thighs. They were both a little hard, but nothing was urgent. He kissed Mickey on the lips, unhurried until he tipped Mickey's head back and began sucking on his collarbone. Mickey had several dark spots Ian had given him over the last few days, and Mickey shuddered and pushed up into Ian's mouth. It was good that it was winter, and both of them had thick scarves to cover up the worst of the damage.

"We need to do this again." Ian was very serious on this point. It would probably be a long time before they did anything this fancy, but they needed time, just the two of them.

"Yeah, yeah, we do." Mickey rubbed his hands over Ian's shoulders and back. Ian enjoyed the slippery slide of his hands over his skin as a result of the bubble bath additive. "Got lots more to knock off that list."

They both snorted with laughter; that list had certain items checked off, and enough items had been added over the weekend that it was now onto a second page. They weren't going to have a hard time keeping things fresh in the bedroom for a long time.

"Kinda just want to keep it simple tonight; you down for that?" Ian wanted Mickey under him, wanted to slow fuck him. Let things build between them. The only response he got was Mickey leaning up and into a kiss, a hand softly cupping his face. Oh yeah, Mickey was on board with the vibe of this evening. Making a unilateral decision, he decided it was time to get out and move this along. He pulled the plug using his toe, and they both stood as the water started to drain.

"I'm gonna miss that tub," Ian said mournfully.

"Yeah, don't get any ideas, Gallagher; I'm not fucking taking baths at home with you in that stupid small tub." Mickey threw over his shoulder as he traipsed across the tile to the shower to rinse off.

Ian followed, not even hiding that he was checking out Mickey's bubble butt. Seriously, the man had a fine ass. He realized Mickey had said something; he shook off the haze he had been in, "Hm, what?"

Mickey turned around and realized what had happened and just snickered. "Nothing."

Ian was fully hard now just thinking about that ass wrapped around his dick, fucking Mickey. Mickey was done messing with the water temp, and Ian spun him around, pressing him up against the tile. Devouring his mouth. Mickey reached up and gripped his nape, pulling him down more firmly.

"Fuck, want you so much." Ian was amazed, all this time together, so many obstacles had been in their way, but somehow they had ended up here. A year successfully married, as in love as they ever had been. Swooping down for one more hard kiss before stepping back to finish washing, "Fucking love you, Mickey."

Mickey just stood there for a minute, blinking up at him. It was clear he hadn't expected the declaration, and if his hard dick was anything to go by, he was also slightly preoccupied. And yet, he responded, "Love you too." He always responded these days, never left him hanging. It was like he was still surprised he had the opportunity to say it. Someday, Mickey wouldn't be surprised.

Ian rinsed all the bubbles off and stepped out, which got Mickey moving. He did the same, and then Ian helped Mickey dry off. Which was really just an excuse to rub him down with the soft towel. Mickey reached up, put his arms over Ian's shoulders, and pulled him down; both dropped their towels in favor of having no space between them. Mickey managed to herd Ian out of the bathroom and over to the bed, while neither stopped kissing.

Mickey got on the bed, grabbed the lube, and began fingering himself, prepping for Ian's dick. Ian was back to just staring, seeing Mickey's hole swallow his fingers. "You gonna come help me or just watch?"

Ian gulped hard and climbed on the bed between Mickey's thighs. He took the lube from his hand, smeared some on his fingers, and then inserted a finger along with Mickey's two already filling him. Mickey arched at the stretch and moaned; after so much use, his hole had to be extra sensitive and sore. "Oh fuck, so full," he whispered as he used his other hand to hold his leg back. Mickey removed his fingers, "Fuck get on me already." Mickey was always impatient and borderline frantic after stretching and waiting to be dicked down by Ian.

Ian inched up on the bed, and put Mickey's legs over his shoulders, and slid into him, took it deliberately slow. Pushed until he was grinding down, all the way in. Ian knew this position got him extra deep the way Mickey craved. "You feel me, Mick?" Ian was watching him as he grunted every time Ian bottomed out inside him.

"Yeah, fuck, feel you," Mickey reached up to push against the headboard, pushing back on every thrust. "Feel so fucking good, always feel so fucking good." Mickey just kept on babbling. Ian loved seeing him like this.

Ian looked down, and Mickey's thick dick was leaking a continuous stream of fluids; the angle meant it was heading towards Mickey's navel. Reaching down to stroke him, Ian felt Mickey tighten around him in response. He could feel Mickey ramp up close to coming, which wouldn't do. He tugged Mickey's balls down while giving him three good thrusts, effectively staving off his orgasm for a bit longer.

"What the fuck," Mickey shouted, "I was fuckin' close." His tone was slightly miffed, but he just kept fucking himself on Ian's dick.

Moving Mickey's legs down off his shoulders, they quickly wrapped around his waist as Ian slid down, so they were chest to chest. He kissed into Mickey's open mouth, and just like he knew they would, Mickey's hands came off the headboard and wrapped around his shoulders. Mickey kissed back with a vengeance.

"Sorry, needed to slow it down, wanna stay inside you for a while." And he did, wanted to stay here for forever and for time to stand still. He wasn't overly emotional, but he craved the connection and intimacy of this moment with Mickey.

Mickey knew he got this way sometimes, and although he loved the hot and heavy fucking, he always gave him this when he needed it. Mickey squeezed his thighs even tighter around Ian's hips, Lifted his head, and pulled Ian down; they stayed like that, Ian rocking into him while they exchanged breath and kisses.

Mickey reached up and combed his hand through Ian's hair as they ended the kiss finally, "You okay?" He just lay beneath Ian, rolling his hips up for each thrust but looking right into his soul. Ian felt a shiver go down his spine as he gazed back at Mickey, thinking in his mind of all the times Mickey had been abrupt, rude, crass, or dismissive but almost always to other people. With Ian, Mickey was a caring and sensitive man, in tune with his needs. It could be overwhelming when he really thought about how he was one of the few people who got to experience this side of Mickey.

Just nodding his head, he said, "Yeah. More than okay, just really goddamn happy."

Mickey's responding smile was cheeky. "Good, then will you please fuck me harder and faster?"

Snorting, Ian went about the business of fucking his husband properly. Mickey was so primed it didn't take much, and he was coming. Ian wasn't as close but feeling Mickey's orgasm helped get him closer. Mickey pulled him in for a few more kisses, tweaked his nipple, and whispered in his ear, "fill me up, Ian, always want you inside me." Somehow, that was precisely what Ian needed to hear. He came in a rolling wave, pushing hard into Mickey, filling him up just like he had asked for.

He collapsed on Mickey's chest and just rested there, catching his breath. Mickey rubbed his back, finally letting his legs drop but keeping close.

"Happy Valentine's day Mick," Ian mumbled into Mickey's sparse chest hair.

"You know that's a fake holiday, right?" This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, and it was a bit of a running joke, but Ian smacked him on the shoulder anyway.

"Don't be a dick," Ian said mildly.

"Ow, fuck." And then it was on, Mickey rolled Ian onto his back, and they wrestled around on the bed. Ian trying to get Mickey in a pin position, but Mickey had always been too quick for him to effectively pin for long. Finally, Mickey got the upper hand, flipped Ian onto his back, and straddled him while his arms were held down. Ian was going easy too, he kinda liked this position. "Happy Valentine's, Ian, there, ya happy?" Mickey asked in his snarky exasperated way.

Ian just snorted at the annoyed tone. "Yes, now let's eat some cake." Peyton really had been a lifesaver, helping to coordinate the delivery of this afternoon's surprise. Ian had put in a special order for a miniature four serving cake of the chocolate ganache Mickey had wanted for their wedding if he had chosen just for himself. The look on Mickey's face when it was delivered to their room had been priceless. They had already demolished half the cake.

They just grinned goofily at each other. "Hell yes." Mickey climbed off the bed, parading around naked until he picked up the robe that had been left on a chair. He didn't know it yet, but the robes were coming home with them. Tomorrow, they would be packing them up along with the rest of their clothes when they left. Ian just watched as Mickey took a fork full directly from the remaining half a cake in the pastry box and took a bite. He then took a forkful for Ian and brought it over to feed to him. It really was fucking good. Ian lay back on the bed and watched his man hang out, being happy, taking bites for himself, and feeding him bites as well.

They had spent time this weekend not only expanding the gold star experiences of sexual activities they hoped to share but also experiences and places they wanted to see together. It hadn't exactly been planning their future, but it had felt meaningful to speak of their secret dreams like it was a real possibility, like they were working towards shared goals. Like they both could have those things with each other, something neither of them had thought possible at various times.

Mickey came over and fed him one more bite, and Ian tugged him in for a chocolaty kiss. He had one more evening with his husband in their fancy room with absolute privacy, and he didn't plan to waste it.

**Author's Note:**

> Would love comments from readers on this particular story, this was a struggle and I wasn't feeling it so much. I think it's because it's mostly angst-free and so I didn't feel like I had a strong hook. I hope you enjoyed it but if you have any constructive criticism please let me know. :)
> 
> Luluxa created the beautiful companion art pieces for this story and you can find all of her work including this piece here: [Luluxa on Tumbler](https://luluxa.tumblr.com//)
> 
> There really is a Waldorf Astoria in Chicago and this is what the hotel and room were modeled after. I hope to stay sometime if I get to visit, it looks pretty luxe! [Waldorf Astoria Chicago](https://www.waldorfastoriachicagohotel.com/)
> 
> Here is an Amazon link to the plug used in the story in case you wanted to check it out. Njoy has quality items and although I haven't tried this one myself I have spoken with people who highly recommend their toys. [Njoy Pure Plug Small](https://www.amazon.com/Njoy-6011447-Pure-Plug-Small/dp/B00FEKPQUK/ref=pd_sbs_4?pd_rd_w=wUF1t&pf_rd_p=c52600a3-624a-4791-b4c4-3b112e19fbbc&pf_rd_r=N05B540450ARF2N68G9M&pd_rd_r=70bfdf98-a81a-4b20-a954-e881c9d7f4bb&pd_rd_wg=6VdSa&pd_rd_i=B00FEKPQUK&psc=1)


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